Swordmage (23 page)

The swordmage’s heart froze in his chest at the mere sight of the thing, and he took a step back without even realizing

it—an unseen mantle of dread and despair seemed to flow before the apparition, as if its mere presence cast some grievous shadow on the souls of the living. Several of the Veruna men actually fell and buried their faces against the ground, unable to endure its presence at all. Part of Geran’s mind noted that the apparition’s appearance had provided the best distraction they were likely to get if they were to attempt a break for the barrow, but he was unable to wrench his eyes away from the dreadful king.

The grim figure fixed its burning green eyes on Geran. It was all that he could do to stand without quailing in front of it. Then it spoke: “Five centuries have I waited for that book to be brought out of the Lathanderian wards. I will not permit you to damage it now, young fool.”

Geran was frozen in the icy grip of the skeleton’s gaze. “You are Aesperus,” he said in a weak voice. He’d heard enough tales whispered by firelight in Griffonwatch when he was young to recognize the dreadful lich who had stalked the Highfells for centuries—a mighty wizard dead for hundreds of years, yet preserved by dark and potent necromancy. Geran had always wondered why he was called the King in Copper; now he knew. The lich’s bones were fairly held together by it.

“King Aesperus to you,” the lich hissed. He glared at Geran, and his eyes flamed brighter with the intensity of his scrutiny. “Hmmm. You are a Hulmaster; I know the smell of your blood. Isolmar is dead now, so you must be Bernov’s son Geran. Of you I have heard little.”

Geran said nothing for a long moment; it was terribly hard to form a thought, let alone speak, while Aesperus held his gaze. Finally he managed to say, “I’ll barter the Infiernadex for our lives, King Aesperus.”

The lich laughed coldly. “What care I for your lives?” he said. He stretched out his clawlike hand and made a small gesture, and the Infiernadex was wrenched out of Geran’s grasp by some unseen force, savagely strong. The book soared to the lich’s hand, and Aesperus twisted what remained of his face

into a horrible smile. “Goodbye, Geran Hulmaster. I expect that you and I will speak again soon, when you have been laid under stone as your forefathers were.”

Aesperus turned away from Geran, and the swordmage felt strength and volition returning to his limbs. The lich looked at Anfel Urdinger, who averted his eyes and stared at the ground between his feet. “Tell your mistress that I hold her part of our bargain accomplished. Disturb no more barrows, Captain. You have no more reason to plunder my realm.” Then Aesperus took an old amulet of verdigris-covered copper from his rotting robes, and put it in Urdinger’s hand. “He who wears this token may call on my minions, and they will answer and do his bidding. Now I have upheld my own part, too.”

“Yes, mighty king,” Urdinger mumbled. He took the copper amulet and slipped it into a pouch at his belt. “I’ll tell Lady Darsi what you have said.”

“Tell her this too: Do not use my gift in the bright hours of day, and do not try to send my minions far from the amulet. She should choose the time and place carefully, for my servants will answer but grudgingly.” Tucking the tome under his bony arm, the lich strode off into the night. On the third stride he simply melted into a black mist that dissipated as the wind quickly arose again. The white hoarfrost covering the heather vanished as well, and Geran took a deep breath.

They were still surrounded by a score of Veruna guardsmen. And he no longer had the book to bargain with.

Urdinger looked back up and shook himself. Then he fixed his eyes on Geran with a wide, predatory smile. “It seems that you’ve lost your bargaining chip, Lord Geran. Your previous offer was the Infiernadex in exchange for your life. Have you got anything else to add at this time?”

This does not look good, Hamil observed. Try for the barrow?

Agreed, Geran answered. Follow me when I move. Then he quickly called out a spell: “Theillalagh na drendir!”

The violet ripples of his dragon-scale spell shimmered

brightly around him, and Geran hurled himself into motion. He darted off to his right, heading for the nearest bowman he could see. Arrows thrummed and hissed as they flew at him, but he’d judged his moment well; most of the Veruna men had lowered their weapons when the lich had made his appearance, so they hastily raised and drew while he was already in motion. One arrow was deflected by his silversteel veil, another struck his dragon-scale spell and rebounded as if it had hit thick plate armor, several more hissed by him, but one well-aimed arrow found its way through his spell-shields and buried its broad head in his left arm.

Geran cried out and staggered but managed to recover his stride. The man in front of him leveled his bow right at Geran’s face—but Geran was upon him, and he slashed his burning sword across the man’s weapon, cutting the bow in two and sending the Veruna archer to the ground with a long, seared cut across his face, neck, and chest. The man shrieked and thrashed.

“Get them!” Urdinger roared. “They can’t get away!”

Two men in mail tried to cut off Geran, but he was faster than they were. A quick passing parry, and he was by them. He heard Hamil’s bowstring sing and a strangled cry from behind him, but he didn’t slow down. He rounded halfway around the barrow, scrambled up onto the sloping top, and ducked into the steep stone stairwell just ahead of more arrows and several of the Veruna swordsmen. Hamil skidded down the steps behind him, and Geran dove headlong through the hole he’d made in the wall at the bottom of the steps. Hamil followed after him. The halfling rolled easily to his knees, spun, and fired a couple of arrows back up the stairwell.

“I don’t believe that worked,” Hamil muttered. “Are you all right, Geran?”

“Almost,” Geran answered. His arm burned fiercely, it seemed that he’d knocked his shins against the stones in the stairwell, and his ribs still hurt from the fight against the bronze sphinx earlier. But he seemed more or less intact. The

arrow in his arm was not as deep as he had feared—his spell-shields had likely slowed it some before it struck. He gritted his teeth and carefully worked it out. Blood streamed down his arm and dripped on the cold flagstones. “How about you? Are you hurt?”

“Me? No, they were all shooting at you. You’re a much bigger target, and your sword’s on fire. I could have slunk off into the fog, and they never would’ve noticed.” Hamil peered back up the stairwell and risked another quick shot. Another man cried out and cursed viciously.

“Watch it, you fools!” Urdinger shouted from somewhere out of sight. The Veruna mercenaries shouted at each other for a brief chaotic moment, then the captain’s voice carried over the others. “Shut your damned mouths! Keep it quiet!”

Well, now the darkness favors us, Hamil said silently. It’s pitch black down here, and anybody who sets foot on the stairs is silhouetted against the sky. So what next?

“I’m still working on that,” Geran whispered. They could stay barricaded inside the batrow entrance for quite some time—the stairs would allow only one man at a time to approach, and it would be almost impossible for the Veruna archers to shoot past their own man on the stairs. What would he do in Urdinger’s place? The mercenary captain could simply fill in the stairwell and leave, but he couldn’t be sure that Geran and Hamil wouldn’t dig themselves out after he left. So maybe he’d just set watch over the top of the stairs and let them die of thirst or starvation. “Or maybe a shield or mantlet of some kind,” Geran mused. “Carry it in front to block our arrows, move down, and get to the wall. But then you’d still have to get through the hole.”

They could smoke us out, Hamil offered. Use a mantlet to get down here and then throw some burning brands through the hole, drive us back from the gap. And… don’t forget that panther they have. As far as we know it could simply appear behind us and catch us looking up the stairs.

Geran glanced over his shoulder at the black passageway behind them. “That’s a reassuring thought,” he muttered.

He peered up the stairwell as far as he dared. Urdinger was certain to be turning over the same possibilities in his own head. Likely he had an option or two that Geran hadn’t even considered yet, such as hiring a wizard to blast open the barrow or summon some demon who could simply rip them apart, swords and arrows be damned.

They heard a sharp exchange of voices atop the barrow, but it wasn’t very clear. Geran thought he heard Urdinger say something that ended with, “… it’s none of your affair!” The other voice responded, too far downwind to make out clearly. Geran glanced down at Hamil. “Something’s going on up there,” he said. “Are they arguing—?”

Before he finished his question, a brilliant flash of light seared the darkness outside their bolthole, followed by the low rumbling whoosh of fire. Mercenaries suddenly shouted in panic, and Urdinger shouted, “Archers! Bring him down now!”

The night blazed again with a brilliant yellow flash, a sharp crack, and a deafening peal of thunder that jarred a pinch of dirt loose from the passage ceiling. An acrid smell drifted down to where Geran and Hamil crouched, and the Veruna mercenaries cried out in dismay. An instant later, more fire belched across the night sky.

“What in the Nine Hells is this?” Geran said.

“They’re trying to lure us out?” the halfling guessed.

“Somehow I doubt it.” Geran stared up at the mouth of the stairwell. He could hear men shouting and running, the distant ring of steel, the panicked whinnying of horses. They could wait it out and see what happened next … or they could move while the Verunas were distracted. In an instant, Geran made up his mind. He clambered back out of the hole in the wall, crouching low in the stairway, and carefully climbed the steps, expecting another arrow at any moment.

You’ve lost your mind! Hamil said, but he climbed out as well.

Another thunderbolt pealed across the hilltop, and in the

single brief flash of light Geran saw something completely unexpected. The Veruna mercenaries ran this way and that, hugging boulders and tufts of high grass for cover as they confronted a single man—the horned sorcerer that Kara, Hamil, and he had met up with at the barrow where Jarad had fallen. He stood in midair fifteen feet above the ground, surrounded by a storm of fire, his coat of scarlet and gold billowing in the wind. One of the Verunas shot at him with a crossbow, but the sorcerer batted away the bolt with a gesture and turned a fearsome glare at the fellow who had shot. The crossbowman staggered back, his clothes smoking, and then he burst into flame. Screaming horribly, he flailed away into the night fog.

Two of the Veruna armsmen still crouched nearby, distracted by the battle raging a short distance away. Then one glanced down and caught a glimpse of Geran by the light of a blast of fire. “The others!” he shouted. “They’re making a break—” Then a short arrow took him in the face and sent him staggering backward.

“Shhhh,” Hamil said. “That’s a good fellow.”

Geran quickly bounded up the steps as the armsman waiting there scrambled to his feet and launched himself down. They met on the top stair; the man parried Geran’s thrust at his midsection and replied with a vicious cut at Geran’s head that the swordmage simply ducked under before surging up and scoring with a long passing cut to the neck as he shouldered the man out of the way. The Veruna man spun half around and fell where he stood.

From the foot of the barrow, a man Geran hadn’t noticed before raised a wand and pointed at the sorcerer in scarlet and gold. A trio of shrieking blue missiles screamed out of the wand, weaved their way through the sorcerer’s fiery aura, and hammered home against his side. The horned man cried out and staggered in midair, clamping a hand to his injury. The Veruna mageling shouted in triumph and aimed another burst at him. Geran had no idea whether the horned man— the tiefling, that’s what his kind was called—was an enemy

or not, but for the moment the mercenaries of House Veruna were a common foe, so he raced down the side of the mound and hurled himself at the unsuspecting Veruna mage. The fellow sensed danger and started to turn just in time to see the swordstroke that decapitated him. Hamil followed a step behind him, now with knives in his hands since he’d shot all his arrows. “Are you sure this is our fight, Geran?” he called.

“I’m making it ours,” Geran answered. He found himself engaged with another Veruna swordsman and fought a furious duel for several long moments, Mulman broadsword against elf-wrought backsword, blades flashing in the darkness and firelight. Hamil skirmished against another swordsman who moved in to attack Geran’s back while Geran was battling the first, and managed to slash the man across the knee badly enough to put him on the ground—at which point the halfling swarmed over him and finished him with a dagger through the visor of his helm.

For his own part Geran almost stepped onto his opponent’s swordpoint but saw through the feint at the last moment. He beat his adversary’s point up into the air, and ran him through beneath the arm. The swordmage quickly spun clear, searching for another foe, but no more Veruna men remained on their feet nearby. He caught a glimpse of Urdinger and half a dozen men galloping away into the darkness, pursued by flaming bolts the tiefling hurled after them. Then the battlefield fell silent except for the low, smoldering crackle of grassfires kindled by the sorcerer’s fire. The tiefling snarled something after the fleeing mercenaries and allowed himself to drift back to earth. Then he caught sight of Geran and Hamil.

“Hold!” Geran called. “We’ve got no quarrel with you.”

“That remains to be seen,” the tiefling answered. He held his curved metal rod at the ready, but he did not move to attack. “The book!” he demanded. “Where is it?”

Geran studied the tiefling for a long moment before answering. The man was obviously a very capable sorcerer, but Geran knew that his spell-shields would stand up better

to blasts of flame and bolts of lightning than the mundane mail the Veruna men wore. He took his time answering in order to make sure that the sorcerer would understand that he did not answer out of fear. “If you’re speaking of the Infiernadex, then the lich Aesperus has it,” he said. “The Veruna men followed us to this barrow, and I think Aesperus followed them. He took the book from me and departed not more than half an hour ago.”